


The Dead Man

by carvedwhalebones (fuckyeahlucifersupernatural)



Category: Dishonored (Video Game), Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Dishonored 2, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-01 05:09:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8610055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuckyeahlucifersupernatural/pseuds/carvedwhalebones
Summary: The first to step into Kirin Jindosh’s laboratory is a dead man.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _This story may contain Dishonored 2 spoilers. Read at your own peril._

The first to step into Kirin Jindosh’s laboratory is a dead man.

The Clockwork Soldiers reported that an unidentified man was impaled by their blades, staff dispatched to clean the area and move the body to cold storage for later use. Yet there he stands, alive, only suffering from large tears in his clothing and blood stains about each frayed opening.

No words are exchanged, at first, just the soft, sweeping sound of worn boots wiping splattered whale oil and blood off on a thin stretch of red carpet. 

Jindosh moves his weight from one side to the next, acknowledging the sweat collecting in the bend of his arms. He finds himself, uncharacteristically, quiet, never having anticipated that someone would ever emerge from the rabbit hole he has created. There is no grand speech or a thrown taunt, just silence and the sound of boot and carpet meeting.

He can feel his cheeks burn as he observes the messy streaks left by the man’s boot, his rule of forbidding staff to be present in his laboratory coming to snip at his ego. He will have to clean this stranger’s visit off his floors, on hands and knees.

There are no more Clockwork Soldiers to throw at the intruder to push away the red in his cheeks. No more whirling and shifting tricks of the trade to elude and evade. His elaborate maze has been solved by a dead man.

Each new visitor is a chance to test his soldiers, but this is impossible. Returning from the dead defies physics and rationality. 

As easy as the baffled thought flows out, does the night spent in a locked room, room splitting itself in two, and teeth forming from an incantation flow in. Kirin can hear his pulse beat madly in his ears, his uneasiness coupling with gnawing curiosity. This one knows black magic.

“Rare to find a noble with an open door policy,” the corpse begins conversationally, taking an easy step forward. Eyes catch dark teeth etched on skin when the sleeve of his coat rises, Kirin pulling his hands into tight fists, taking a step back. He recognizes the mark, the well-tailored suit nothing but a farce.

“Took me a while to find you. I was hoping for the grand tour, but you never showed up,” he continues, lips pulled into a thin smile, taking another step forward, “what happened to all that etiquette you’ve learned?” 

The words are more threat than question, Jindosh’s mind flittering between images of the blueprints of his creations, the wanted posters placed near the station, the errors that could have left his creations lacking, and the reoccurring name that sits on every newsletter that reaches his doorstep: _Howlers._

There is something biting hanging on the precipice of his tongue and against better judgement, he lets it loose, “I am always available to humor my distinguished of guests.” With his back erect, chin tilted just so, he can’t help the smug twist of his lips at the flared nostrils responding to the barb. “I doubt you’re here for just a handout and a tour.”

Jindosh awaits fury or that bright frustration that comes with his cutting words, but it never comes to pass. Dark eyes take him in, swearing he spies pity. It’s Jindosh’s turn to flare his nostrils.

The stranger begins to laugh, sudden and loud, Kirin flinching at the noise. “Ah, where are my manners? I am Paolo. I’m sure you will find that I am quite the, ah, _distinguished_ guest.” The uneasiness he felt before begins to resurface, recognizing the name. 

“I believe you have one of my men here. He came about, oh, let’s say two days or so ago,” Paolo begins, his next step forward invading the personal space of the inventor. “He’s about yea high — ” Paolo moves his hand and holds it somewhere about Kirin’s nose, “— and has a tattoo of a bird right about here.” A finger pushes into his Adam’s Apple, chilled to the touch and pressing into the cartilage. Jindosh gives an involuntary swallow at the pressure, earning a bemused smirk.

“Ring a bell?” 

It does. The man Paolo speaks of is underneath them both on one of his operating tables. 

Kirin tilts his head just a bit higher, until he’s staring at the man past his nose. “I’m afraid that your associate is dea — ” 

The finger on his Adam’s Apple shifts into a hand squeezing his throat, finding himself propelled backward until he’s nearly being bent backwards on one of his tables. His hands grapple for the pistol on his belt — what he should have grabbed since the beginning. Stupid. As his fingers find the smoothed handle, something digs into his gut in warning. 

Jindosh’s hands go still, a shaky noise rattling out of his throat.

“Wrong answer,” is growled out, whatever is digging into his gut moving, feeling the weight of his pistol leave his side. “You’re the genius here, no? How about this. You find a way to… ” Paolo never finishes his sentence, Kirin’s brows pinching together as the man only gives a drawn out sigh, eyes turning somewhere near the inside of his coat. 

Kirin follows his eyes through his fluttering ones, feeling his limbs turn restless with his unfilled lungs. There are bony fingers slipping out from underneath the fabric, holding onto the lapel and pulling itself out. His surprise doesn’t catch Paolo’s attention, his features stuck in a state of mild irritation and begrudging patience. There is a severed hand crawling its way across the man’s chest and Jindosh jerks back in self-preservation, the movement aborted by the hand on his throat. 

He swears he hears the very bones in the hand rattle and hum as it maneuvers itself onto the stretched arm of the Howler. Something is murmuring underneath the stretch of skin and bulging, preserved veins, words unintelligible. Slipping its way across, the perturbed inventor finds dead fingers using Paolo’s hand as a platform to lay itself against his face. 

A grunt leaves the Howler and the grip on his neck slackens, the younger male heaving for air, fighting off the urge to shake off the hand against his face. Chilled fingers trace the side of his cheek, nails scratching against unblemished skin, the murmuring louder now that hand is so close to his ear. He swears he hears his name amongst the noise, soft and pensive. 

Before Jindosh can find the strength to protest — to beg, at this point — the hand slides off his features. It makes its way across the older male’s arm, almost seeming to wag a finger at the scarred man. 

“You’re lucky,” Paolo admits with a frown, removing his hand from his throat, carefully tucking the weathered hand somewhere underneath his coat. “She says you have the cheekbones of her beloved. It'd be a shame to ruin them.” 

An impatient gesture is made and Jindosh is released, stumbling away from Paolo, "Show me the body and let's be done of this." 

The laboratory shifts under Kirin's command, revealing the lower levels, but his hands are caught on the spots touched by the sentient hand. His skin tingles with the loss of feeling and warmth, his hands shakily retracing each touch. He’s almost tempted to request for the interaction to happen again — too feel it once more, but to observe with a more clinical mindset. 

How easy his fear seems to shift back to apprehensive fascination. Kirin itches to retreat to find pen and paper to scrawl out these effects, but he stays put. Instead, he busies himself watching the Leader of the Howlers, taking in his mannerisms with a careful eye. He’s hoping to see something else that is otherworldly, but none reveal itself. 

“Next time one of my own comes wandering in, you _kindly_ show them the door. Next time _I_ come in, I’d like to see a warm welcome. Wine would be nice,” Paolo remarks, tone unreadable, throwing one of the dead bodies over his shoulder. Kirin manages a nod and, like that, the man is gone. There was no wave or incantation like Breanna utilizes. No waving of the hand or some charm. One moment he is present, the next he is gone. There is nothing but the faint sound of scratching on tile from unseen creatures, the walkway across his laboratory shifting from afar, and not a single sight of the man or the body plucked from his table. 

Maybe he is lucky. After all, Breanna hardly humors him, anymore, with the explanation of her craft, but, perhaps, this one will if he gives the right push. 

Jindosh makes to an abandoned creation of an electrified chair, debating on whether to present red or white wine to the leader of the Howlers during his next visit.


	2. Purely Scientific Interest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Knowledge often comes at a price.

Kirin Jindosh has become accustomed to the discordant spell that overtakes his mansion when Paolo is near. He has had maids disturb him at odd hours reporting infestation of vermin in the waiting room, chewing on one of the rugs, to all the audio graphic receivers being set off by the sound of tiny feet racing about. Kirin needs only to wait before he can hear Paolo enter and piece himself back together in the room he has held himself in for the day.

It’s a hideous process he rarely gets to witness.

A month ago, Kirin just happened to flick the lights on quick enough to watch a dark mass of rats squeeze itself next to its neighbors and grow. The popping noise he thought were locks to his windows or doors were but the vermin horde welding itself together, chirping softly in one voice. Bones pushed out of fur, muscles strung itself together, and the shape of a man began to form. It’s a quick process and Kirin found himself terribly fascinated by the grisly show. It’s the only reason why he forgives the immature announcements of Paolo’s arrival. 

He has been trying to figure out for months how the internal organs are formed within the man or why he reshapes himself with his clothes perfectly intact. Was that a parlor trick? The hand he carries with him? A rune? Charm? Or is it another unexplainable wonder that comes from The Void? He’s tried, before, to anticipate where and when Paolo may show up, but Kirin is either too slow or Paolo pulls himself together elsewhere.

Tonight is different, coming to anticipate the odd hour visits every other week. It’s all strange, their visits. Leftover magic will cling and nestle into every crevice of the room Paolo appears in, leaving the room smelling of something earthy. They’ll engage in idle conversations, but any poke and prod regarding The Void, that hand, and the rats is either evaded or flat out ignored. 

It all feels like a test to see if he’ll resort to his Clockwork Soldiers to cut him down and drag him onto the metal slabs in his lab. Why not, though? He can crack every secret open once he cuts through flesh and bones. Perhaps even dissect the hand the man carries. 

But he doesn’t, letting stray thoughts remind him of previous test subjects, with a history of carrying heretical items, showing no signs of any anatomical anomalies postmortem. Paolo is far more viable alive than dead, perhaps. Perhaps. It doesn’t stop the young inventor from checking the sidearm on his hip. 

The maids report vermin harassing the kitchen staff around seven in the evening, signifying Paolo is near. He fidgets in the dragging minutes that follow after until he hears the cacophony of chips from the left. 

A dark mass slips into the room, pooling together, before they begin to climb and press against each other. Kirin can see the way tiny claws dig into their neighbor and build upon the other. He can, briefly, see how the rats become distended and bloated, bones popping from their sockets and out of flesh.

Kirin dares not look away, taking a step closer as the mass begins to take shape. The process is beginning to speed up and he sees the formation of feet and legs. He’s trying to commit it all to memory, murmuring his observations under his breath, hands shaking with excitement and mortification. He spies the smaller of the rats running through the makeshift skeletal system, perhaps running where vital organs sit and soon to act as them. It’s only when he sees a shoulder, torso nearly completed, does he dare to touch Paolo. He curls his finger around a shoulder and the mass gives a shudder, bones rattling against the other, fur tickling his palms. 

“Eager to see me?” a voice hisses out, distinctly Paolo’s, but there is something feminine in the background — another voice chiding at him.  

More is being said, but Kirin can only hear the loud beating of his heart, enthralled and caught in a heady rush. How similar this is to that night meeting Delilah. By the Void, there were rats running _through_ him! It’s only when dark eyes are peering at him, cloth instead of fur rubbing against his hand, does he shake himself out of his stupor. Releasing Paolo’s shoulder, Kirin is quick to rush to his desk, grabbing a nearby pen to scrawl down his observations. 

“That was…unnatural. _Brilliant, even._ Any lingering strain on the body, at the moment?” Kirin inquires breathlessly, only lifting his eyes away from the parchment to glance at the man, watching the way the red ink on Paolo’s jugular looks like an open wound that disappears into the collar of his shirt. He wonders if each rat carries bits and pieces of the tattoos on Paolo’s body on their bellies. He should make a quick sketch of it so he can recall the thought later. 

“I didn’t realize you were so interested in me,” Paolo returns, something of a warning dancing around his words. 

Jindosh pays it no mind, making a crude sketch of the man’s throat. His mind his whirling with possibilities and thoughts. What if he intervened earlier in the transformation? Would it have caused it to be incomplete? Would something be undeveloped to the point of being life threatening? 

“Purely scientific interest.”

An incredulous sound leaves the Howler, followed by the distinct sound of a bottle being uncorked and liquid being poured into a glass.

“Not sure if I appreciate the honesty,” Paolo murmurs out. “Speakin’ of honesty,” Paolo continues, “I actually didn’t swing by for the free drinks…or the free examination.”

Now that pulls Kirin’s attention away from his notes, finding Paolo’s features unreadable. He debates whether he cares to pretend to adhere to social protocol and cease his note taking. With a sigh, Kirin places the pen down and makes his way to the bottle of wine Paolo has opened. “Oh, to what do I owe the honor?” Jindosh replies.

A quiet curse leaves his mouth when he finds himself unsteady. His hands are still shaking, bottle clinking loudly against glass in a poor attempt to pour the liquid. It clatters and clinks against each other again, wine slopping out of the glass. Inked fingers are quick to still the tremors, firmly taking hold of his wrist.

“I came here for you.” 

Kirin can only find himself curious by the statement, eyes taking in the inked images etched on the back of his hand and knuckles. Kirin doesn’t fail to see the frail fingers peeking from underneath Paolo’s sleeve, discolored nails catching the light. He stares at it, waiting to see it move. 

“I’m going to cut to the chase,” the Howler leader begins, voice rumbling somewhere near his cheek, “Tide is turning and the Howlers have the Duke by the throat. It’s hard to maintain control in Karnaca when you’ve lost one of its main docks and nearly all of The Dust District. It’s hard being the Grand Inventor when the man who made up the title for you is out of the picture…” 

Jindosh is quick to sputter in outrage the words begin to sink in, ripping his wrist out of Paolo’s hold, successfully knocking the wine and glass off the table. 

“Threatening me?!”

“Don’t worry, I got a carrot for that stick,” Paolo assures, pulling the handkerchief from his breast pocket out to wipe his hand. “When shit hits the fan for the Duke, you can continue to be Grand Inventor. You will remain protected by the Grand Guards. You can continue to build whatever the fuck you want. But it comes with a price: I want you to bring all your machines in the palace back here for service for a day. I pick the day, you recall them all for a routine service check.” 

“Aren’t you concerned that I’ll do the opposite? Or that you won’t even get that far?” he returns, busy trying to calculate the worth of such a risk. 

“Maybe. Eventually, you’ll come to disappoint me just like I’ll come to disappoint you. That’s inevitable. Right now? You won’t. Want to know why? _‘Purely scientific interest’_ ,” the older male points out bluntly. 

The rebuttal Kirin has been forming dies on his tongue, resisting the urge to look back at his desk where the marked parchment still lies. “We both know that you’re betting on a losing horse. With me, you won’t have to worry about the cost of supplies anymore. You won’t have to put aside other projects for the Duke’s anymore. You don’t step on my toes, I won’t step on yours. It’s just that easy.”

He highly doubts it’s as simple as that. Kirin can only wonder if this is how the Howlers broke the black markets and made them come to heel. The idea of caving in to a thug has him bristling, but the offer is tantalizing. The freedom to create at his leisure. To be free of the Duke’s debt for pulling him out of his disgraceful situation. To be on the winning side of history and create a memorable legacy. The continuous opportunities to figure out what exactly is propelling Paolo’s transformation and tricks. That hand…

“I will consider the offer, but only if I can add in my own terms.” 

Paolo gives a nod in acquiescence. 

“I want to know about that hand you carry. I want to know about how you can transform into the rats. Anything pertinent about The Void, I want information on it. Only then will I consider. Does that sound reasonable?” Kirin asks, pleased at the steadiness of his voice, stretching his hand out toward Paolo’s. 

The older male only looks bemused by the gesture. 

“I’m no lab rat, as long as we’re clear on that. But, it’s not my hand you have to shake when it comes to The Void. It’s hers.” The hand lingering within Paolo’s sleeve crawls out, fingers slipping through the spaces between Paolo’s for grip. “She’ll consider your terms, for the sake of _‘scientific interest’.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Love it? Hate it? Please tell me in a review! Feedback is appreciated!_

**Author's Note:**

> _Love it? Hate it? Tell me in a review!_


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